


Man Down

by Tinfoil_soldiers



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alexander Lightwood deserves better, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking, Don't worry he gets better, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Heavy emotional content, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Malec, Protect Alec, Robert needs to leave, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Magnus Bane, This piece was originally a vent piece, overwhelming emotions, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinfoil_soldiers/pseuds/Tinfoil_soldiers
Summary: WARNINGThis piece of writing was originally a vent piece, meaning it deals with intense emotional concepts and feelings. Feel free to read, but there are mentions of suicidal thoughts/behaviors, and general unhappiness. It does get sweeter at the end, but if you don't handle suicide mentions or heavy emotions very well I wouldn't recommend it.*******************Alexander Lightwood has hit his breaking point and is almost ready to go





	

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING  
> This writing contains sensitive materials. Please be careful when reading. The plot of this is heavily emotionally centered, and reflects negative feelings because of it. If you are unsure of what is mentioned, check the tags or summary. 
> 
> On another note, if anyone is suffering suicidal thoughts or self harm please seek help. It's worth it, I promise.

If Alexander Lightwood had a choice, his name would no longer be Alexander Lightwood. He wouldn’t have his dark hair that fell into his eyes too often, his blue eyes that somehow always broadcasted what he was feeling to the world even when he insisted he was fine. He definitely wouldn’t be as blunt and straightforward, say exactly what he was thinking even when all he wanted to do was keep his thoughts to himself sometimes. If he had a choice he’d be anyone else but himself. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t exist at all.

If Alexander Lightwood had a choice, a lot of things would be different. He wouldn’t have been born, wouldn’t have burdened everyone with his existence. His family would be one eldest son short, those he could hardly call his friends would have one less quiet, disastrous person in their lives. And part of him was okay with that. With not existing at all. Because what difference would it make if he was there or not? Who would miss him? Certainly not his parents, they hardly gave him the time of day or piece of mind. His sister, maybe. But she was strong, she could take it. There was no use in thinking about Max anymore. He’d mourned too much to give it a thought, what his younger brother would think of him now.

Now that he was on the roof of the institute, standing a little too close to the edge. He looked to the washed out skyline, covered in the lights of apartment and business buildings, concrete silhouettes over an endless river of warm colours and impending darkness. He stared for a while. Stared out over the stirring sea of people that looked like ants from this far up, stared at the distant buildings and thought for a moment that if he could fly he’d fly straight past them. Far enough so that no one would find him. Near enough that he didn’t miss it too bad.

He let his eyes sink to the ground. His stomach dropped at the sight of everything below, city folk in suits and ties running around on their phones, talking so loud he could hear it. He noticed with a sort of detached fascination that every car sounded different. Some rumbled, some purred, some squeaked. He wondered what it was like to drive one. Then his eyes drifted inwards, towards himself to the pavement. It was dark, shadowed in the coming night, and though it was all one long, winding strip of unending grey that looked almost comfortable from above, he knew that if he took a step forward and out over the edge he’d fall and hit it hard. For a fleeting second he wondered if he could survive it. Maybe he’d test it someday. But today was not that day. Yesterday was not that day, the day before that wasn’t either. As far back as he could remember, it wasn’t that day. And so neither was today. So with a final breath, a slow and calculating whisper of air, wondering, contemplating, he stepped back from the ledge.

He stepped away from the concrete, away from the buzz of people and cars, he stepped away from the sky and the clouds and the silhouettes of buildings. He stepped away from his hopes of flying and his dreams of being anyone else. He stepped away from it all. He took a moment to collect himself and decided he’d meet the pavement in a much less messy style.

***

Truth be told, Alec didn’t know where he was going. He’d grabbed his phone and and a sweater, thrown it on haphazardly and left without a word to anyone. His eyes were trained on the scuffed toes of his boots which were suddenly more interesting than everything around him. He continued to stare anywhere but that faces of passing people, steps unfaltering and unwavering. Even when the rain started, fat droplets soaking his hair and clothes, he didn’t stop.

Even when he felt his eyes and throat burn, nails digging into his palms so hard blood dripped off his fingertips with the rain and he had to force himself to step away from the traffic, he didn’t stop moving. Alexander Lightwood had a destination, an unknown place he had to be, and nothing was going to stop him from getting there. Not even the falling blanket of darkness, not the freezing cold that sunk into his bones and made him feel heavy. Not the recent memories that made bile rise in his throat and prodded at his brain, his father’s voice still ringing in his ears.

_You don’t understand, Alexander. This isn’t about you, this is about your family. This is about the people who you trust, who you really love. Not some dirty Downworlder, some trashy Warlock you decided to throw yourself at! This is about what it’s doing to your family, what your disgusting selfishness is doing to us!_

Selfish. Alec didn’t think he’d ever used that word to describe himself. He’d used other words Robert threw at him that night plenty. Worthless. Unneeded. Valueless. A waste of time and space, unworthy of even the slightest affection from someone else. He’d used them all, the most painful names under the sun dipped in the sweetest poison. He thought it hurt then. He thought no one could hurt him worse than himself, that he’d had the scars to prove it. But like with most things, he was wrong. Somehow it hurt more when it came from him, from his father, than it ever had from anyone else.

His whole life Alexander Lightwood strived to be the best at what he did. He craved praise and comfort from his family, desperate to fill a black hole in his chest, never satiated, never satisfied. But he was always doing something wrong. A wrong step, a wrong shot, a wrong word at the wrong time. It was like the universe loved to hate him, loved to push him over the edge. So yeah, it hurt when he heard his father saying those things. Those words coated in ignorance and the unwillingness to even try and understand. So he was no longer surprised when his edge wasn’t a metaphor anymore, when his lifeline wasn’t something he had a lot anymore.

He tried to stop. He really, truly did. Tried to stop himself from thinking about it, about everything he’d heard. But walking alone in the rain, lost in his thoughts on a trip to nowhere in particular while his mind spouted false truths at a rapid fire pace left him no choice, no say in the matter anymore. So he walked. Walked far, walked fast. Walked to the only safe place he knew.

***

By the time he arrived at Magnus’ loft it was late. Far too late for Magnus to be awake, to want to put up with him. Before he knew what he was doing he was ringing the buzzer and trying to find the words to explain why he was here. Magnus’ voice boomed out of the tiny speaker and all Alec could say was “I’m sorry.” and turn to leave. But in the time it took him to turn around, convince himself to move and cross the street, Magnus had made it down the stairs and called his name what felt like a hundred times, but in actuality was probably only once or twice.

Alec turned around, guilt painted plainly on his face. Magnus saw it, even from a distance. “Come inside, Alexander,” He called, reaching a hand out to him. “Come inside, don’t leave me here alone.” Alec stared at him, hardly able to comprehend Magnus’ words through the rain and the pounding in his skull. “Please,” Magnus begged, voice breaking. “Please, Alexander, come inside. It’s safe inside.” Magnus could only watch as Alec stared at him, blood still seeping steadily from his hands. “You’ll be home,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. And that’s all it took, all Alec needed to sink to his knees and finally let the sobs shake him, pull him around and tear him apart.

Magnus sprinted across the street, not bothering to close the door behind him. His focus was Alec. Alec here, Alec now, Alec hurting. The closer he drew the louder Alec’s sobbing became, the more he could tell that his lover was purely broken. He dropped to his knees beside him, wrapping him in his arms. Grabbing Alec’s shoulders he hauled him up and noticed in horror that Alec was bleeding.

From that point on it was a blur of half dragging Alec up the rickety stairs to his loft, setting him on the couch and running to get something to stop the blood. Magnus settled beside him and grabbed at his hands, examining them carefully. The cuts were perfect little half-moon shapes, oozing steadily. Alec’s nails were crusted over with a rusty red and he was sobbing uncontrollably. Magnus decided the bandages could wait. He grabbed Alec’s face, cupped his cheeks gently in his hands.

He could almost hear his heart breaking.

His love, his beautiful angel, so full of life and light and purity, had fallen. And he’d hit the ground hard.

Magnus acted quickly, pulling Alec into his arms and combing his hand through his hair. He could feel Alec’s frantic heartbeat next to his own, could feel the boy go limp in his arms. “Oh, my Alexander,” he whispered. “What have they done to you?”

***

“Come back to me,” Magnus whispered to Alec, still limp and shaking in his arms. Although the crying and bleeding had stopped Alec was nowhere near okay. “Please, Alexander. Come back to me.” He’d been sitting there for what felt like hours, holding a shaking Alec close to his chest and feeling him writhe in pain. He’d taken care of the cuts and the tears, kissed the palms of his hands and the tip of his nose too many times to count. But Alec was still shaking, still fearful of himself. It took many more hours, many more words for Alec to come back.

***

Alec stared at himself in the mirror of Magnus’ bathroom. He was pale, all colour drained from his skin. He looked exhausted and his eyes were red, the blue of his irises standing out unsettlingly. He stared down at his hands, healed perfectly thanks to Magnus. Finally he looked to the man standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist and head tucked into the crook of his neck. He could feel Magnus nosing the spot where his shoulder met his neck, leaving kissed that felt as light as butterflies all along it. Between every kiss there were mumbled words, hardly there. They made Alec’s skin burn despite the cold still stuck in his bones. Magnus was mumbling words against his skin, sweet nothings as his breathing fell slowly. Things that contradicted every single thought Alec had about himself, every bad thing he’d ever said or heard.

He felt the cold melting away as Magnus stayed wrapped around him, the clean clothes he’d received helping a great deal. He turned to kiss Magnus’s temple, closed his eyes and let his nose rest there. He inhaled the familiar scent, the smell of sandalwood and burnt sugar. A scent so distinctly Magnus is made butterflies gather in his stomach and threw his heart for a loop.

Finally relaxed, Alec let Magnus lead him to the bedroom. He pulled them both under the covers, still tangled with each other. For the first time that night, Alec smiled. He spoke up quietly, so soft he wasn’t sure Magnus could even hear him. But the low hum that came from the warlock confirmed it, a soft reply of “I love you more,” sending a slight shiver down Alec’s spine. He kissed the side of Magnus’ head again, making a trail down to his lips.

This is where Magnus liked to be. Wrapped around Alec, enveloped by his love and care. It felt like home to him. No matter where they were in the world- London, France, Italy, it didn’t matter. As long as he was with Alec, Magnus Bane would always feel at home.

Loving a Shadowhunter was not easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. But when Alec was here with him, finally calm and peaceful, kissing trails to his lips where they met halfway, Magnus couldn’t deny the fact that he was hopelessly in love with Alexander Lightwood. And if he had a choice, Alexander Lightwood would always be nowhere but here.


End file.
